1 Legal Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing!!! CB is property of Sunrise.
Please R&R. Here's chapter 1 (opening/avant title).
2
3 Opening
Everyone's favorite Seat Belts song, "Tank!" cut down to 1:01 for the main title.
4
5 Avant Title
"Bang."
Jet Black's voice rumbled into the afternoon like thunder, disturbing the near-silence of falling snow. It fell from Jet's right, almost ushering him to his left in the same fashion as he would, as an ISSP officer, pushing crowds and grunting out the familiar "There's nothing left to see here, move along".
A flake landed on his right cheek, and another on his forehead. By this time, he'd developed a dusty coat of snow on the one side of his large frame, but he couldn't take a step until he'd faced facts. His finger was still pointed at the grave, his thumb having clicked the shot that his voice echoed only a few seconds ago. He smirked at the notion that he'd picked up his friend's old habit. His thoughts drifted like a soft wind, refusing to register the information that his eyes and sense of logic were trying to pound into his head.
"It's not exactly silent - you can feel the noise it's making."
Jet turned abruptly to the voice, sheepishly lowering his hand as his gaze became fixed on a young man. He was placing items of no consequence but great sentimental value on a nearby grave, and when he'd finished he stood and turned to Jet.
"The snow, I mean. In the middle of the day or the dead of night, you can always, but just barely, hear the dull sigh of it brushing against the ground."
"Yeah. I always thought it was pretty creepy, myself."
The two figures stood in silence for a moment that lasted too long, almost uncomfortably so. Finally, the young man walked off and Jet was left with a stone that had various words etched on it. A name, first and last. Two years, printed side by side (2044-2071). Some silly words that were supposed to sound symbolic.
Fresh soil, several days, most of which were filled with silence, accompanied by the filling out of some forms and a lot of standing in front of this stone. This is all that separated him from Spike Spiegel.
Both sets of the men's footprints were already filling with fresh snow by the time Jet had walked back to the BeBop.
5.1 Words and letters flash, eventually settling on "Fading Star Eulogy", but no Session Number.
2
3 Opening
Everyone's favorite Seat Belts song, "Tank!" cut down to 1:01 for the main title.
4
5 Avant Title
"Bang."
Jet Black's voice rumbled into the afternoon like thunder, disturbing the near-silence of falling snow. It fell from Jet's right, almost ushering him to his left in the same fashion as he would, as an ISSP officer, pushing crowds and grunting out the familiar "There's nothing left to see here, move along".
A flake landed on his right cheek, and another on his forehead. By this time, he'd developed a dusty coat of snow on the one side of his large frame, but he couldn't take a step until he'd faced facts. His finger was still pointed at the grave, his thumb having clicked the shot that his voice echoed only a few seconds ago. He smirked at the notion that he'd picked up his friend's old habit. His thoughts drifted like a soft wind, refusing to register the information that his eyes and sense of logic were trying to pound into his head.
"It's not exactly silent - you can feel the noise it's making."
Jet turned abruptly to the voice, sheepishly lowering his hand as his gaze became fixed on a young man. He was placing items of no consequence but great sentimental value on a nearby grave, and when he'd finished he stood and turned to Jet.
"The snow, I mean. In the middle of the day or the dead of night, you can always, but just barely, hear the dull sigh of it brushing against the ground."
"Yeah. I always thought it was pretty creepy, myself."
The two figures stood in silence for a moment that lasted too long, almost uncomfortably so. Finally, the young man walked off and Jet was left with a stone that had various words etched on it. A name, first and last. Two years, printed side by side (2044-2071). Some silly words that were supposed to sound symbolic.
Fresh soil, several days, most of which were filled with silence, accompanied by the filling out of some forms and a lot of standing in front of this stone. This is all that separated him from Spike Spiegel.
Both sets of the men's footprints were already filling with fresh snow by the time Jet had walked back to the BeBop.
5.1 Words and letters flash, eventually settling on "Fading Star Eulogy", but no Session Number.
